


Genie in the Teapot: a festive fairytale

by KiliMouse



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Magic, Tea
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 06:07:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiliMouse/pseuds/KiliMouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I had a dream in which saying "I'm sorry" three times while drinking tea enabled you to summon Tom Hiddleston from the teapot like a fabulous genie. It seemed like an obvious crack!fic, but ended up sort of cute and fairytale-ish. Not my usual sort of fic, but I'm quite pleased with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> None of this is real (as far as I know...)

It was late when it happened. If it hadn't been so late, chances are you would never have got into such a bizarre situation, and you'd have been thinking more clearly, because you never normally apologised, and certainly not three times in quick succession, and DEFINITELY not when the person to whom you were directing your apology wasn't actually there to hear it.  
None of that mattered, though, because what happened, happened.  
You were sat in your living room- although truth be told it hadn't seen many signs of life recently, what with you working all hours of the day and alienating the few friends who might actually have visited you. Your companions that evening were a huge, chipped, much loved pot of tea and a suitably gigantic mug, and you were huddling in your scarf and worn duffel coat (because surely there's no point heating the house for just the one person, whose heart is seemingly ice cold anyway?) feeling utterly, utterly miserable. You'd argued with the closest thing you had to a best friend (yet again), and no matter how many times you told yourself that you were BOTH ratty and unpleasantly short tempered (it was nearly Christmas, after all. And being a poorly paid intern wasn't a great person to be at nearly Christmas) you couldn't shake the feeling that maybe you'd gone too far, been to abrupt, too rude...maybe there would be no friendship left at this rate!  
You picked up the teapot, poured a generous slosh of the sweet scented liquid into the mug, watched the steam rise and swirl in the icy air of your lonely front room.  
'I'm sorry,' you said, dejectedly. You sipped at the tea. Too hot. But any kind of heat was preferable to the gloomy chill on both your inside and out. 'I'm sorry.' You really were. For the first time in a long time, you felt bad. Was this what it was like to be the Grinch at the end of the movie? 'I'm SORRY!' The words almost exploded forth in a burst of horrified anguish.  
Then, the teapot exploded.  
Well, that's what it sounded like, anyway, and you jumped off the sofa instinctively because, well, what else were you supposed to do when faced with an exploding teapot?  
'Good morning,' said a voice from somewhere in the tea steam. 'You have summoned the tea genie. My name is Thomas William Hiddleston, but you can call me Tom. How may I be of assistance?'  
'Well, shit,' was the extremely eloquent response.  
'I'm sorry?'  
'No, I'm sorry...' Shouldn't swear at genies, probably.  
'I know you're sorry, that's why I'm here,' said the voice, and as the steam cleared, you realised you had a kind-faced, curly haired young man standing on your coffee table, sort of shimmering about the edges of his silhouette as if decorated with the most delicate of smoky finishes. He was looking down at you with the sort of expectant, amiable look you might give a particularly slow child.  
'I don't understand!'  
'Well, you summoned the tea genie, didn't you?'  
'I didn't mean to...'  
'Oh.'  
Tom looked hurt, but at least he got down off the table.  
'I didn't know there was such a thing as a tea genie...' you volunteered, but that seemed only to make the situation worse, and now Tom looked almost like he was about to burst into tears. You reached awkwardly for his arm and gave it a pat, half expecting your hand to go straight through him. He was alarmingly solid, however. Definitely real, then. Well. Ok then.  
'No, not many people do,' he said mournfully. 'There isn't a lot of business in being a tea genie, but I am one, and there's nothing I can do to change that.'  
'You're a lovely tea genie,' you said soothingly.  
'You really think so?'  
'I certainly do!'  
'Oh, bless you,' said he, with a smile that threatened to split his face in two. 'I usually only grant one wish, but you're so lovely you can have two!'  
'Is that allowed?'  
'I do what I want,' he said, suddenly looking very mischievous, and you decided it was probably better just to trust him. You took another, long overdue, sip of tea, and his eyes locked longingly onto the cup.  
'Would you like some?' you asked.  
'Yes, please,' he said. 'I spend so long swimming about in the stuff, I can't remember the last time I drank tea from a cup.'  
'You look awfully dry for someone who swims in tea,' you said, doubtfully, but fetched him a mug and spoon anyway.  
'Oh, magic,' he said dismissively, and was then silent for approximately five and a half minutes while he savoured each sip of tea like it was the ambrosia of Olympus. You watched with interest; he had a very expressive face, and quite a handsome one at that. In fact, you became so lost in the crinkles at the corners of his eyes that when he finished, and looked up to meet your intent gaze, the glow of his blue eyes was rather a shock, and you dropped your mug. Fortunately, it was empty, but smashed into irreparable pieces on the carpet. You let out a shocked cry; it was your favourite, after all.  
'Oh, I'm terribly sorry, here, let me,' said the genie, and the mug was suddenly in your hand again, entirely and effortlessly reconstituted. You remembered to close your mouth after a few seconds.'I- wow, thank you,' you managed. 'Was that one of my wishes?'  
'Not at all, that was me clearing up a mess I made,' he said. 'But what would you like to wish for?'  
Well, that was the big question, wasn't it? The really big one. People often talked about what they wished they had, but you didn't want to waste one of the tea wishes on something silly like a jetski, or a rich boyfriend. To be honest, you'd probably stay interested in the jetski for longer, you'd wanted one since you were a child...  
'Your mind wanders,' the genie observed, drawing you back to reality.  
'Yes...sorry, I was just wondering... Could you help me clear up a mess that I made?'  
'I'm a tea genie. I can do pretty much anything,' he said, grinning. 'Oh, that sounded rather boastful, didn't it? I do apologise.'  
'Well, then,' you said, and took a deep breath,'I wish for the perfect Christmas for me and anyone I've fallen out with or been mean to these past few months. Could you do all that for me, tea genie?'  
'Of course, my dear,' said the genie, 'but please, call me Tom.'  
'Thank you, Tom,' you said, genuinely grateful. 'And...would it be terribly rude of me to ask for a while to consider the second wish?'  
'Not at all,' he said, 'as long as you don't mind me staying around. I can't go back in the teapot until the wish is granted, you see.'  
'That's not a problem,' you said immediately, rather pleased to have such a nice looking genie in your house for the forseeable future. 'I'll make up a spare bed, and I'll put the heating on.'


	2. The Housemate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doesn't everyone want a genie!Tom as a housemate? Even a poorly Tom is better than no Tom...isn't it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not real, y'all

Tom stayed a week, and then another. He got up promptly whenever he heard your bedroom door open in the morning, and you took turns making breakfast. It was like having a flatmate, but one who literally seemed to have tea running through his veins, because if he didn't have enough of it, he would go grey in the face and his skin would turn smokey, as if dissolving. He was good company, though, and you learnt to always have at least three spare packets of teabags in the cupboards in case of emergencies.  
He even met one of your friends, who bravely came over to invite you to a staff Christmas party. When they saw Tom, they invited him too, but he apologetically and politely declined, and instead stayed in bed all day. When asked, he said he was fine, and you believed him because you wanted to, not because you were convinced. When you got home and crept silently and cautiously to the little spare room, he was fast asleep, and had turned so grey he looked almost like a marble statue.  
You didn't want him to leave, though. Whenever you felt like you really wanted money for a Sky subscription, or a new house, or those shoes you'd probably wear just once and then break your ankle, you looked up and saw Tom, and realised it would mean he'd have to go. You didn't want him to go, but the longer he stayed away from the teapot the paler and thinner he got. He was drinking Earl Grey by the bucketload just to stay warm, and hardly left the house, then his room, then his bed.  
Christmas Eve dawned, and with it the realisation that your perfect Christmas was only a day away. All your friends had agreed to come over in the afternoon, and Tom assured you that the people you'd offended or been horrible to would have an inexplicably hassle-free day too. His eyes were bright with excitement, and he almost looked healthy, but his skin was never far from a greyish hue, and was becoming translucent to the point of seeing the spidery veins beneath, and the way they pulsed slightly in time with his heartbeat, and he confessed to you over Christmas breakfast that he always got excited around Christmas but had been stuck in the teapot for the last seven of them because no one had summoned him. Your heart hurt just a little at that; he wasn't getting better, he was just happy because it was Christmas. Well, how could you enjoy your supposedly perfect one when you knew that the person who'd brought it all about was fading more and more with every day into the wisps of steam that swirled above your mid-morning cuppa? You were going to have to use your last wish, just to let him go.  
The doorbell rang, snapping you out of your gloomy reverie, and you half expected Tom to be at the door before you- he loved people. He wasn't, though. Your friends were all excited to meet him, but you had to lie and say he'd gone to his family for Christmas, because the thought of them seeing him curled up under a blanket, to all intents and purposes dead to the world, was too heartbreaking to contemplate.  
If you hadn't been worrying about your genie, it would truly have been perfect. The turkey magically didn't char or catch fire, the pudding behaved itself, and no one was sick in the sink (or anywhere for that matter), which, among your group of friends, was an achievement in itself. Presents were exactly what was wanted, and no one ended up being given any tacky mugs or cheap underwear, meaning that the obligatory thank-yous and cries of delight were, for once, entirely from the heart. Yours, though, was heavy.  
As soon as the house cleared, you raced upstairs and knocked on the door of the spare room. There was no reply. Cracking the door open slightly, you peered into the gloom. Tom was there, alright, but he was practically transparent, more like a shadow than a living creature. Maybe that was all that was left. Maybe...maybe you were too late.  
Dread clutched at your heart and you closed the door, unable to face the potential reality that you were too late, too selfish, had ruined everything once more- and this time, there would be no kindly genie to fix things for you.  
You sat on the sofa where the two of you had met, closed your eyes, prayed that it would work, and made your wish.  
Nothing happened.  
Nothing.  
No...  
You let out a muffled sob, and the thought popped uninvited into your head that getting rid of a dead genie wasn't exactly something you could Google search. If there was anything left of him, that was. What a horrible, horrible thought. You tried to put it out of your mind, but all you could see when you closed your eyes was his pale face, cold as stone and just as unmoving.  
That night, with makeup smeared and carefully styled hair regressing to a primal, haystack-like appearance, you cried yourself to sleep, and wondered how the best Christmas you could have wished for- did wish for- could turn so abruptly into the worst.


	3. The Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, wishes go wrong. Sometimes, they don't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One hundred per cent not real but merry Christmas anyway

Something crashing into a wall downstairs woke you up, almost like a cat knocking over the Christmas tree. It took a moment to remember that you did not, in fact, own a cat.  
You sat bolt upright at this realisation. Shit, were you being burgled?   
'I'm terribly sorry!'   
CRASH  
'Only me...'  
'Who?' You quavered, not reassured in the slightest. The only answer came in the form of hurried footsteps on the stairs, and you reached for the lamp beside your bed; it was an antique, but would do quite nicely for conking down upon the head of an intruder. The bedroom door opened, and you raised the lamp...  
...then dropped it onto the bed beside you with a shocked gasp.  
'Thomas William Hiddleston,' came the long delayed reply. 'But please, call me Tom.' He was carrying tea. He was carrying tea... and he was alive. Alive! And looking outrageously healthy, with colour in his cheeks and sparkle in his eyes, the general effect of robust beauty marred only by the swiftly blossoming bruise on his left temple. 'I don't think I'm getting the hang of this human business,' he said. 'I can't walk through walls anymore. But I suppose you already heard that?' he added ruefully. You nodded, speechlessly. 'Here, I made tea,' he carried on, seemingly oblivious to the flabbergasted expression on your face. 'It takes a good deal longer when you're not on the inside of the teapot. I hope it's not too strong.'  
'It couldn't possibly be.' Your first coherent sentence of the day, and it was about your love of strong tea. How characteristic.   
Tom looked pleased with himself.  
'Good,' he said, satisfied, and then went to the mirror to critically examine his bruise. 'Humans break easily,' was his eventual conclusion. 'I'm going all purpley. Ow.'  
With several gulps of tea in your gullet, you felt ready to ask the big questions.   
'What on earth happened?' seemed the obvious one.  
'I walked into a wall. Don't worry, I didn't damage anything,' said Tom.  
'No, I mean... You were ill! You were going see-through... I saw you, saw through you! What happened, how are you back here? Why are you...human?'  
'Well, you made the wish, didn't you?' It was Tom's turn to look puzzled now.  
You supposed you must have wished something, but grief and now befuddlement had completely blurred your memory of the previous night.  
'Yes, I suppose,' you said, doubtfully, and were reassured when his face split into a warm grin, as if something as obvious as the sun had just dawned across the meadow of his mind.   
'I know what happened,' he said. 'Think. Think back. What did you wish for? What exactly did you say?'  
In that moment, you were the you of last night again. Wracked with guilt and misery, not caring about anything except the gentle genie whose life you were destroying with your selfishness. 'I wish... I just wish the very best life for Thomas William Hiddleston...'  
'I wished you would have the best life,' you said.  
'Exactly. And here I am,' said Tom. 'And I never have to miss a cup of tea, or a Christmas, or anything ever again. I think I might learn to rather love being a human.'  
Well, when he put it like that, life didn't really seem all that bad after all.


	4. The Happily Ever After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SOPPINESS AHOY

POSTSCRIPT  
There are a lot of people after his attention this evening. Of course there are, it's his first big movie, and the London premiere at that. He's undeniably man of the moment, swanning around looking elegant and charming the birds out of the trees and the journalists out of their cynicism. It makes you smile to think that not one of them could possibly realise how many times he's walked into doorframes and thwacked his long legs into chairs while trying to adjust to his new, non-fluid form, how many times he has apologised to your furniture for its rough treatment, and how many teabags he has bought as compensation for the tiniest of mishaps.  
'It's worth it, it's always worth it,' he would say, using yet another tube of salve on his bruised shins. 'It's the beauty of an imperfect life, you see. I feel alive. I am alive, it feels amazing. Do you know how nice it is to be able to feel something other than steam and warm tea? It feels indescribable.' But he'd always try and describe it anyway, usually resorting to Shakespearean quatrains in an attempt to make you understand.  
There are no bruised shins tonight, no awkward collisions with door posts and tripping over stray laundry. There is just Tom. And you, of course, in the background, proud as a parent at sports day and hoping he wouldn't forget you in all the hubbub and chaos... Maybe one last wish couldn't hurt?  
'You don't need to wish,' he says, appearing almost as if summoned once again, right by your elbow. 'I couldn't grant it if I tried. But you don't have to. You were, and are, and ever will be, the reason I'm even herein the first place.' A small smile tugs mischievously at the edges of his lips. 'Just think, wherever I go in life, and wherever you go, you'll be the only one who knows I started life in a chipped china teapot.'   
'You have such a way with words,' you laugh, and disappear into the crowds together, hand in hand and so very, very human.


End file.
